Lead Me Into the Light
by Ebyru
Summary: Castiel is a young boy when he's adopted by John and Mary Winchester. He has no memory of what his parents are like, and the orphanage doesn't know where he came from either.


**A/N: **_Originally written in March, 2012._

Warnings for:_ sibling incest (adoptive mainly), AU, angst, slash, general SPN spoilers._

* * *

_If travel is searching_

_And home what's been found_

_I'm not stopping_

Mary and John Winchester met in their early twenties and married soon after, madly in love. The next step for them was born of a combination of logical, human progression and of their unfaltering attachment to each other. They needed to create something that would connect them forever, reminding them of their love. They needed to have children.

It wasn't long until John's eager soldiers found one of Mary's eggs.

Dean was the first born, and what a beautiful baby he was. He had Mary's bright green eyes, her strength, and her leadership qualities, even as an infant. All of the other children followed him around the playground, listening to his every command, downright _adoring_ him. but he never much cared for the studies that came along with school, passing it on instead to his loyal followers.

After four years, another present was sent down to the Winchesters: Sam.

Sam was every bit his father's son, right down to his sensitive hazel eyes and stubborn-nature. (No one except Mary knew just how sensitive John was, of course; but then, that was why she had decided to marry him years ago.) Sam didn't require as much attention as Dean did, but when he received it he was more than grateful. Reading and writing came easily to Sam, much to Dean's dismay; Dean wanted to spend every waking hour playing with Sam and nothing else.

A few more years passed and John could see that something was bothering Mary. She was the sweetest, most loving person he'd ever laid eyes on, and really he would do a_nything_ for her if she just spoke up. But she wouldn't so John inquired instead.

Asking what was upsetting her would become the least of his everyday worries.

XXX

"I want a daughter, John," she whispers one night while Dean and Sam are tucked in their respective beds, fast asleep.

"Another kid?" It slips out as annoyance rather than what it's meant to be—which is disbelief—but John can't change how it sounds once it's said. In his defence, two boys really were hard enough to raise without bringing a young girl into the mix.

"I'm too old now," Mary says quietly. "I can't have another child myself. It could be dangerous."

"Then what are you asking?" John's brow creases, squeezing her hand gently. He brings it up to his mouth and kisses the back of her hand.

"I passed by an orphanage when you were at work the other day—"

"You don't even want her to be blood?" John interjects, eyes widening. He pets Mary's hand when he sees how disappointed she is with his reaction. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"More than anything, John." She leans her head on his shoulder, toying with his fingers. "I understand if you don't want any more children though. It's our decision, not just mine."

John sighs, his thumb rubbing across her palm. "Just let me think about it, okay?"

Mary smiles and kisses his cheek as they lie down. Their bodies are warm and snug against each other, and it's peaceful. It's just right as it is. They fall asleep; Mary thinking about the prospect of another child, and John considering the consequences on sweet Mary's heart should he refuse.

XXX

After a week, John decides he really loves his energetic boys, can't imagine a world without them. He'd also really love to have a girl around to teach them how to treat their wife well in the future. John tells Mary, in the silence of their bedroom, fingers linked, that they can go to the orphanage first thing the next day. John hasn't seen Mary smile that wide since Sam and Dean were born. It makes the fabricated glass case around his heart melt away, as it always does.

Just as promised, the next day John and Mary are in the orphanage filling out paperwork. Sam and Dean are in school at this time, Sam having just turned seven. It was a relief not to have to pay the extra daycare fees anymore. And Mary has promised John they will pick a child old enough that they won't need to ever again.

When the time comes for them to get down to the more interesting part—choosing a child—it's different from what Mary expects, but it's exactly how John knew it would be.

The couple is handed photos of different children between the ages of one and seventeen. Mary explains that they would like the young girl to be close to Sam or Dean's age. Mary sighs as she flips through the photo album, telling John she can't choose a child simply from a photograph. And John thanks God for that. He couldn't imagine deciding that way either.

The older woman in charge of adoptions takes the photos away and asks the couple to follow her to the dormitory.

Each child has their own small but quaint living quarters, and Mary waves into each and every room she passes. She's always loved children. Perhaps she should have been a teacher.

There's a girl with long blond hair that looks very much like Mary and Dean, but she doesn't react to them when they try to get her attention. John spots a girl with auburn hair, climbing onto her bunk bed and jumping off repeatedly. She would be trouble to deal with, not that it's for him to decide on his own, but perhaps she could teach Dean some respect for girls. Mary is walking ahead, not particularly taken by that girl, still smiling politely as she passes, when she stops dead in her tracks. John pulls his eyes away from Supergirl jumping off her bed for the tenth time, and jogs up to his wife.

Mary is practically shaking with delight, sighing and flailing her arms like she's just given birth for the third time. John looks around the room but there's only a short, blue-eyed boy sitting quietly on his bed. Or was that a girl and he couldn't tell? Every child in the orphanage is dressed basically the same.

"John," she murmurs, not tearing her eyes away, "he's the one."

"_He_?" John says, thoroughly confused by this change of events. "I thought we were looking for a girl, Mary."

"But John-" She grabs her husband's arm. "_Look_ at him. He has my mother's eyes and your messy, dark hair, and he's so precious. He'd fit right in."

"I always knew you thought my hair was messy," John teases. But he takes a closer look at the boy, not wanting to displease Mary. He looks well-behaved, kind, smart. He's on the small side, but he doesn't look weak. John hums approvingly. "So, you're sure then?"

"You agree?" Mary asks, her eyes shining with excitement already. It's like she's found the love of her life in this child. John tries not to feel jealous; this is going to be his precious boy, too.

"He looks like a good kid," John replies. "But ultimately it's up to whether we have a bond with him or not, right? But I do think he seems like a nice boy."

Mary lets go of John's arm and walks up to the reserved boy. John leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed to his chest. The boy looks over at John and fidgets, his fingers crawling over his knee. Mary sits next to him on the bed and reaches for his nervous fingers tentatively. His eyes flicker up to hers, and he lets her grab his hand. Their fingers intertwine and the boy smiles, looking down at their hands, and enjoying how warm Mary's hold is. Mary's eyes are already watering. How could anyone let go of such a sweet boy?

The boy looks up again, and Mary squeezes his hand softly. "Do you want to come live with us?"

John smiles, the corner of his eyes crinkling, but his arms are still crossed. The boy looks over at him, then back to Mary. He nods slowly.

XXX

In their early forties, the Winchesters have three children. _Dean_, the eldest, is eleven, _Sam_, the middle child, is seven, and _Castiel_, their adopted and precious youngest, is but five years old.

Mary and John spend the next few days trying to make Castiel feel as welcome and loved as possible. They give him his own room, right in between Sam and Dean's, and they inquire what kind of decoration he'd like. Castiel doesn't know what that means so he spends the rest of the day inspecting his brothers' rooms.

Sam's room is filled with books- colouring, reading, puzzle, any and all types. His walls are pretty bare save for some photos that he's taped on himself. There's also an empty frame on Sam's desk labeled as 'my new brother' with stars and moons around it, and that makes Castiel happy. Sam's blanket is blue with faded green leaves as design, and there's a round carpet at the foot of his bed in the same dark blue shade. Sam's shoes are lined up neatly in front of his closet door, and his papers from school are carefully placed atop his desk, next to a black lamp. It's a nice, clean room, Castiel thinks. Sam walks in, brushing past his younger brother's shoulder, and Castiel sneaks out not saying anything.

Castiel goes into Dean's room next.

Dean is lying on his bed, looking through a magazine, which he lifts for a moment to smirk at Castiel before he keeps on reading. There's a picture of a car on the front of it. After glancing around the room, quietly enough not to disturb Dean, he notices there are cars on everything. There's a poster of a pickup truck on Dean's wall, a red race car across his blanket, a carpet in the shape of a car peeking out from under his bed and a picture frame with windows—a car of course—with the family's face through each hole. He doesn't have any books like Sam does, but he has cassettes, jumbled and stacked into painfully crooked angles that makes Castiel want to fix them.

It's hard to know what Castiel likes when he's always just been given things without having a say.

Castiel wants a bit of both their rooms, he decides. He likes the blue blanket Sam has, the poster on Dean's wall, the bookshelf and the cassettes. Mary and John take him shopping for the items, and he decorates his own room. Dean passes by first and laughs. Sam sticks his head in when Castiel is reading a book on lions and calls him a _thief_ then sticks out his tongue. Castiel is happier than ever.

XXX

At Mary's request, John asks the orphanage about Castiel's parents or anyone who may have found him. They regretfully inform him that they had no information. Castiel was simply left at their doorstep, like many others, with a note saying 'take special care of Castiel'. John tries not to be increasingly annoyed by whoever not only gave him that ridiculous name, but also left him irresponsibly to be taken care of by someone else. At least now they could show him what a real family is like.

Castiel is a shy, quiet boy, but he's always good. John never has to discipline him like he does Dean when Dean steals the cute neighbour's scarf and runs away with it. John doesn't have to shush him like he does Sam when Sam gets a little too intent on making his thoughts known at the dinner table. All in all, Castiel is a very pleasant, smart boy to be around. John doesn't want to admit it, but he's glad Mary convinced him on taking in another child—even if he isn't a daughter like she wanted.

XXX

Weeks pass and it's as though Mary gave birth to Castiel herself. She bakes treats, letting him try them first to figure out what he likes best. She tucks him in at night with a soft kiss to his forehead, telling him she loves him dearly. When Castiel is having a nightmare, she is somehow aware and right next to him, humming and petting him until he can sleep peacefully. Castiel wonders if Sam and Dean may be jealous of all the attention focused on him, but he's too timid to ask.

Dean and Sam act like big brothers do. They mess up Castiel's hair before school, poke fun at his formal way of speaking, and whisper about him when they think he's not looking. Other than bothering him though, they don't really speak to Castiel, and that worries Mary and John. They want Castiel to feel welcome by all of his family, not just his parents. They don't want him to get the wrong impression from his brothers.

There's a point after a few months where Castiel thinks he has some horrible mutation or mark on his face. Dean and Sam always watch him like he's this animal from The Discovery Channel, and Castiel would know because he watches it himself, and then skip up the stairs to Dean's room to murmur some more. Mary and John don't seem to be bothered by it or by Castiel's face, so he assumes it's just them bugging him as usual. He never thought there'd be a _usual_, that he'd have brothers and parents who actually care about him.

Castiel doesn't know how to deal with this newfound love, this warmth that is shared throughout the household like a protective barrier. He's overwhelmed by them, and spends a lot of time in his room thanking God for the blessings he's been given, just as he was taught to do in the orphanage. But this time, he actually means it, understands why he's saying it.

Dean winks as he passes by Castiel in the living room one day and Castiel worries that he may be sitting in shaving cream or melted chocolate. It wouldn't be the first time. When he lifts a leg carefully to check there's nothing to be found except the regular, leather cushion. Sam comes into the room not long after and sits next to Castiel—for the first time _ever_, he realizes—stealing the remote from him. Castiel isn't even bothered by the harassment because he's so pleased they are paying special attention to him, a different kind, not just their regular embarrassing jokes.

Later that night, Castiel overhears Sam telling Dean how cute their baby brother is, and he feels the swell of affection bubbling up in his chest. They really did consider him family as much as he did them.

XXX

Mary dies in an unfortunate and devastating fire at her office. She had tried to save some of her coworkers stuck on the fifth floor, but they died along with her, before the firefighters made it to the burning building.

John rushes from his job at the garage, pulling his sons out of school so they can go to the hospital with him. It's his Mary, his perfect, wonderful, brave wife that has been taken away from them. When they arrive and the doctors tell John there was no body to recover, he breaks open and apart, spilling onto the floor. John had wanted to keep his sons standing, not be the one held up by their tiny, fragile hands. Maybe he knew that this would happen deep down. Mary probably did.

Castiel is worried that his family will somehow blame him for her death. He worries that his brothers will hate him for all the attention he had, that his father will turn his back on him. That he will feel alone in a house full of people who despise him. Each thought is worse than the last until he comes across one, the most frightening of all. He thinks maybe they will send him back to the orphanage since Mary was the one who chose him, and Mary is gone now. Their father isn't far behind; John has been missing days of work, locked in his room, crying.

Instead of his horrible scenarios—and Castiel is still too young, but he knows a good thing when he sees it—their family gets closer, more tightly-knit.

John forces himself from bed, making them all breakfast and going to work. He does it again the next day, and the next, and the next until the shadows around his eyes begin to fade and his smile returns somewhat. Sam helps Dean study for exams, and Dean teaches Sam about the different parts of a car. They call Castiel into their rooms and let him borrow whatever he likes, encouraging him to share his passions with them as well. They cherish one another, don't take their smaller family for granted, and most importantly, collectively want to keep Castiel safe from the world.

John pulls his sons (excluding Castiel) aside one night, and tells them to take care of Castiel like he's a diamond. Dean knows what it means, but Sam is confused; he thought they were already treating him better. Dean says to Sam that Castiel is the last piece of Mary they have left, the last mark she'd left behind proving she was ever alive. They didn't have a body to bury during the funeral after all. Castiel was the last important choice she had made, and he meant the world to her, so now he is going to be their world, too. John pats Dean on the back, nodding. That was exactly what he meant but couldn't find the words to say.

When Sam and Castiel are old enough for Dean to babysit without supervision, John starts going on _trips_. Castiel doesn't understand what these trips are, and he doesn't get why they can't go along with him, but Dean and Sam don't question their father so neither does Castiel. John leaves them money for school and food, apparently still showing up at his job during his trips, but doesn't return for at least a few days at a time once he leaves.

It's not so bad being stuck with two older brothers, Castiel decides. Dean and Sam don't tease him or stare at him like he's an alien anymore. They buy him candy, let him watch his favourite cartoons, play hide and seek whenever he asks to, and are genuinely interested in anything he has to say. Or at least they look like they are. Castiel doesn't even mind if they're just pretending.

One thing that doesn't change is the whispering, though.

After they read Castiel a bedtime story in alternations (one night Dean, one night Sam), and they think he's sound asleep, they murmur things about dad, about the day, about _Castiel_. Castiel wishes he could hear at times, especially when it is about their father, but others he doesn't. Perhaps he wouldn't like what they're saying about him.

As years pass, John spends less and less time at home, still leaving them money to live, and Castiel has a feeling it's because he reminds John too much of Mary. Dean just tells him it's because John's really busy on his trips, that they are more important now. Sam insists that Dean is telling the truth when Castiel is still frowning.

Castiel knows what he feels. He sees the hurt on his dad's face as soon as steps in their home and pulls the boys into his arms, keeping his gaze away from Castiel.

Castiel asks Sam what the trips are, where their dad goes, but Sam can't say; he doesn't know either. Castiel has a feeling Dean has the answer, and Dean's probably always been in on the secret. But if even Sam is in the dark, there is no way Dean's going to tell Castiel about it.

Because of their father's absence, Dean and Sam make sure that Castiel knows just how much he means to them. They spend every minute they can—when they're not at school or doing chores—trying to keep Castiel cheery, and making sure he properly understands the expression 'brotherly bonding'.

Dean takes it upon himself to become the man of the house after a while. He cares for Sam and Castiel as much as he can, ignoring his own needs as a result, his grades plummeting. Sam sees Dean struggling between taking care of them and balancing school work, so Sam gives Dean a hand in raising Castiel the way he thinks John would want.

The last thing they want is for Castiel to feel like he's an orphan again just because Mary is gone and John is more often away than not. The thought crosses Castiel's mind once or twice—that perhaps he would have been better off not meeting the Winchesters—but he's so glad to have two older brothers around always doting on him and teaching him about life that it doesn't bother him so much that dad's not around.

XXX

At fifteen years of age, Dean hits puberty fully-blown with mood swings, a growth spurt, and awful messes for his sheets in the morning (which he makes Sam promise not to tell Castiel about when Sam helps with laundry).

Suddenly Dean is over six feet tall, and Castiel genuinely recognizes him as being the man of the house. He's almost taller than their father. Something is still off, though. Castiel is only nine years old, which could explain why he's confused by Dean's awkward behaviour and grumpiness, but he has a feeling Dean may be acting kind of weird.

Dean is looking at him differently, Castiel decides after careful analysis.

Castiel tries to ask what he's done wrong, how he can make Dean feel better, but Dean storms off and leaves Castiel feeling scared and guilty each time.

Sam is eleven, and Castiel thinks two years difference should suffice for him to explain what's happening. Sam also doesn't understand the new Dean slamming doors and cutting his eyes at Castiel. It comforts Castiel somewhat, except that Dean is still avoiding him. What works more is when Sam lets Castiel slip into his bed, and pets him until he's in a deep sleep by humming songs that Mary used to.

Things smooth out after that for the most part.

Not long after everything is almost settled, Sam hits puberty at fourteen and he's _giant_. He makes Castiel look like a newborn. Even Dean didn't expect Sam to grow that tall. He's at least a few inches above Dean, which is saying a lot when Dean is already so high above Castiel.

Dean's odd way of watching Castiel, half-angry, half-upset, starts up again and Castiel still hasn't figured out how to deal with it. He's twelve now so shouldn't it be more obvious what the cause is? He would ask his friends at school about it, except he doesn't have friends at school. If John were around, he'd ask him to make Dean stop, but he's not been home in over a month. Castiel wants to turn to Sam, sleep in his bed like he used to, but Sam starts looking at him the same way Dean does.

Castiel has never been scared of his brothers before, but they also never looked like giant monsters, ready to crack any minute and pummel him to the ground for blinking. He is completely confused by them. Didn't they promise to take care of him no matter what? Castiel doesn't understand what their glances mean, why they're whispering about him again, but they won't tell him even if he asks.

Castiel starts to miss their father a lot more than he thought he ever could, but who knows when he'd be returning from his latest trip. He prays to Mary that night, asking for her help, asking if she can explain. But nothing has changed in the morning; nothing makes sense.

Castiel tries to become immune to their looks, avoids the room they're in at all cost, and goes straight to his own to occupy all his free time. It makes days feel like months, and months feel like years, and years feel like an eternity that will never end. But he makes it through by praying to Mary and cuddling with John on the rare occasions he's home.

It's Castiel's turn to hit puberty finally, and he's fifteen when it rears its foul-smelling, hormone -manipulating head. Besides his body being hairier and sweatier, Castiel really doesn't feel like he's growing up, like he's aged at all. But the changes in the household continue, starting with his craving for physical contact.

Dean and Sam keep their conversations with Castiel to a minimum while still cooking for him and washing his clothes (where does all the semen come from? It's _endless_). They're going through the motions, but they aren't showing Castiel the love they used to, and it's making the longing to be touched that much stronger. Castiel feels the absence of affection more greatly than after Mary died unexpectedly. Who is going to sing him to sleep, hold his hand, tell him he is forever a part of the Winchester family?

Not Dean and Sam anymore, it seems.

Castiel becomes silent and introverted like he was when Mary first found him in the orphanage. Dean offers Castiel a soft smile one night before bed, and that's enough for Castiel to set his mind on _making them_ love him how they used to.

Castiel sneaks into Dean's room later that night, slipping under the blanket with practiced ease and confidence, and Dean doesn't have the heart to tell him to leave. Castiel falls asleep, thanking the skies for this small blessing once more, and curling his fingers in Dean's shirt as he leans against his back.

Dean lets Castiel slide beneath his blankets and next to him any time Castiel seems to be having a particularly bad day. When he thinks Castiel is asleep, he strokes Castiel's hair softly, admiring the angles his teenage changes have granted him. Castiel isn't as effeminate as he once was, but he isn't less beautiful because his jaw is squarer or his cheek bones more prominent. Castiel is pleased with the turn of events his perseverance has provided, until one night Dean turns him away.

"You're too old to sleep in my bed anymore, Cas," Dean says gently, needing to convince himself more than his baby brother. "You should try sleeping on your own now."

Castiel nods, but he's not ready to accept this. There's no way Sam would refuse him, not after all the time he's been avoiding him.

Castiel goes into Sam's room straight after leaving Dean's. Sam willingly lifts his blanket for his brother to slide in next to him. For a moment, the world seems to be normal again. But Sam doesn't want to sing him to sleep, doesn't speak when Castiel asks if he's awake, and won't even pet his hair like Dean had. Castiel wonders which brother is treating him worse, until Sam shifts further away from Castiel's warmth in his bed, and Castiel knows it's a great, big, _awful_ tie. They're in the same bed, yes, but it's nothing like how it used to be. It's like Castiel's just a stranger Sam's forced to share with.

How much longer can Castiel live in a household where he's not given what he needs? He'll turn eighteen in a couple of years; he could look for a place then.

XXX

One night, as Castiel is trying to sleep in his own bed to avoid experiencing the sting of rejection, Dean creeps into his room. Castiel sits up in bed, throwing his blanket off, thinking Dean has changed his mind and wants to share again. Dean drapes the blanket back over Castiel's thighs, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I just wanted to talk to you," Dean mutters, "about what's been going on recently."

"Okay," Castiel answers. Then, immediately after, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no." Dean shakes his head, resting a hand on Castiel's knee. "It's me, actually. I've been feeling weird."

"Weird how?" Castiel tilts his head, glancing down at Dean's hand still on his knee. He really needed this contact. "Like sick?"

Dean pulls his hand away, crossing his fingers on his lap. He sighs. "It's like—I feel strange things when I'm around you." He grumbles, trying to force the words free, and Castiel can see John's mannerisms spilling out of him. "I feel things I shouldn't because you're my brother. Like I'm—" Dean rubs the bridge of his nose. "—attracted to you."

Castiel blinks, his mouth dry. "I don't understand."

"Never mind," Dean replies. "I just want you to know I love you, Cas. Don't think that I don't because I'm not wrestling with you."

Castiel's body feels warm, surrounded by it, by the knowledge that he's still wanted and needed in their family. He's still part of the Winchesters even if he doesn't feel like it sometimes. There's a change underneath his skin, something hot, pulsating. It spreads through him, reaching every corner of his body until he feels like he's been standing in a sauna too long without sweating. The warmth slips outward, and it turns into light. It's pulsating just as the heat was, and Dean is looking at Castiel, squinting rather, because it's getting brighter and harder to control. When it looks like Dean is in pain, Castiel manages to dim it through sheer will and worry, and wraps his blanket around his shoulders to keep the glow from blinding his brother.

Dean leaves the room, rubbing his eyes, and Castiel watches him, not sure himself of what just occurred.

They don't speak of what happened. Castiel can't explain something he wasn't controlling. It's like his body was so pleased with Dean's words that it displayed the happiness through light. That sounds _ridiculous_. Dean can't figure out if he was dreaming or not, if Castiel knew what was happening, but decides he's not ready to take that road yet. Not while he's still dealing with his rebellious hormones.

Castiel thinks he should tell Sam about it so he doesn't find out in the same painful way Dean did. Sam's always the one who's more willing to listen and try to understand as well. Not that he's been acting like himself lately, but it's still worth a try.

XXX

Castiel sneaks in Sam's room as soon as Dean is in his own, but Sam is already fast asleep. Castiel closes his eyes and counts to ten, but when he reopens his eyes he still wants to be in Sam's bed. It's stronger than him, and no amount of water below the bridge is making the craving dissipate. He slips beneath the blanket with Sam, despite what his logic tells him. Castiel should know better now; he's not nine years old anymore. He's far from that shrimp of a boy, too upset to take what he wanted. He's almost as tall as Dean now, and just as smart as Sam.

Sam makes sounds Castiel has never heard him produce before when he accidentally bumps against the taller man, but Castiel knows _exactly_ what they are. They make Castiel's heart beat change from a steady, healthy rhythm to a fluctuating, erratic pounding. He summons the warmth he discovered with Dean, willing it to comply, hoping it might bend to his whim this time. And it seems to be more subdued as it wraps around Sam to soothe his noises and guide him into a dreamless slumber.

Castiel's plan is a failure.

Sam's whimpers only increase in volume and number. At this point, Castiel assumes there's no harm in letting the entirety of his _gift_, or whatever it is, take over if it means getting Sam back to some semblance of a peaceful state. He closes his eyes and lets it seep through him like it did with Dean, except it doesn't feel as raw, as unpredictable, it actually feels comfortable. And then Sam is awake. He's staring, not at Castiel, but beyond him.

Castiel notices the way Sam is gaping, and turns to look at whatever his brother is seeing. He nearly screams when the glow, the form, the _realization_ dawns on him. His body is housing wings. Castiel runs off to his room, stealing one of Sam's shirts on the way out to cover them up.

They won't disappear, not entirely, but they fold inward when Castiel wraps his blanket around them. He still has Sam's shirt on, and he sniffs it to calm his nerves, pretending his big brother is there petting him gently with a melody in his ear.

What is he?

_You're so hypnotizing_

_Could you be the Devil?_

_Could you be an angel?_

This couldn't be a part of puberty, could it? Sam and Dean weren't sprouting giant, glowing appendages from their godforsaken backs. They were just being total and utter assholes that ignored him all the time, but stared at him when he passed by, even more now that he has extra parts. Maybe they could sense this was going to happen?

Whatever the reason is that this is happening, Castiel needs to find out.

Castiel senses something going on with Dean and Sam. That perhaps they've found the answer and are keeping it from him. It's not fair for them to always keep things from him. It's unfortunate that he's the youngest in the household, but that's not going to stop him from finding out what they're hiding. The can't intimidate him with their height anymore.

XXX

Castiel goes into Dean's bedroom, prepared to step in with his fists on his hips, looking stern and adult-like, and demanding Dean tell him what's wrong with him. But his plans backfire left and right, and really he will never catch a break.

Dean is lying on his back, his legs spread, and the blanket barely covering his erection. Castiel looks closer and realizes his hand is stroking up and down the length; he's masturbating. Castiel is watching his big brother _masturbate_. His fists fall limp to his sides, and he looks down at the ground, not sure what to do with this outcome. The door makes more noise when you close it than when you open—Castiel has a memory for these type of useless details—so Dean would know for sure that Castiel is here, and everything would be even more uncomfortable than it's been.

Castiel decides he's just going to crawl out, but then a rough tug on Dean's cock pierces through Castiel like a bullet. Castiel feels their bond stronger than ever, the one that provoked this sudden change in his anatomy to begin with. It almost hurts how good it feels, his own erection throbbing fiercely in his shorts.

Castiel's wings spread throughout the room, high and imposing, skirting every wall and hovering over them like an umbrella. He can't stop them from moving, stretching, needing to be closer to Dean. They want to feel that link again, and maybe they were just following Castiel's will. They flitter over Dean's stomach by accident. Dean screams out as soon as the feathery touch finds his skin, and his climax bursts through him like a bulldozer. Castiel can barely keep his eyes open, his cock dirtying his shorts, and he rides the tremor all the way through until it reaches his toes and he curls them in the carpet.

Dean's eyes are almost open so Castiel escapes back to his bed, hiding underneath his blankets, praying for his wings to withdraw and never return.

XXX

Thoroughly frustrated and bewildered by his new composition, Castiel starts avoiding Dean and Sam himself. It seemed to be fine when he wasn't pushing them to be closer to him, to be more physically nourishing. Maybe it's his fault that these changes began.

If Castiel's lucky, and that is the case, maybe it can all go back to being awkward and cold in their home, and he won't have to think of ways to bind his wings when they decide to appear uninvited. He needs the random manifestations to stop and if it means pushing his brothers away, then so be it.

Being a normal teenager going through puberty is hard enough.

The more Castiel avoids Sam, the more he snakes up behind Castiel and tries to find where the wings come out from by feeling around Castiel's sensitive shoulders. It doesn't make them spring out though, it just makes Castiel angry, and he stomps off to his room to hide. Dean is even more intrigued by them, sliding his hands underneath Castiel's shirt when Castiel's lying on the couch on his stomach, or purposely rubbing Castiel's arm and being openly affectionate to see if they might respond.

Castiel is starting to feel like it's a game to them. And he's ashamed of how glad he is for them acting like his irritating brothers again.

Castiel wears tighter shirts, layers of them, so that no amount of poking or prodding could make his wings materialize. Sam still tries, sitting too close on the couch, wrapping his arm around Castiel's shoulders in hopes the contact will work, but it doesn't. Dean has already made him accustomed to ordinary touches like that.

Dean is also much less subtle. He practically drags Castiel into his lap, pushing the layers away to search for nubs or anything that could indicate the presence of wings. It mostly tickles so Castiel laughs, and involuntarily wiggles, and then Dean shoves him off and disappears in his room for the rest of the night. It happens more often than Castiel would like.

Eventually, Sam is in Castiel's room, because it seems the only way Winchesters discuss anything is at night in one of the three bedrooms. Sam utters the word 'wings' and Castiel flinches when he hears it, just in case Sam gropes around to try to find them again. Luckily, he doesn't.

"I think you're an angel," Sam says carefully.

"A _what_?" Castiel narrows his eyes. "You're joking, right?"

That doesn't make sense because Castiel's on Earth, with them, and has been with them since he was five. And he's aging just as they are, going through the motions of puberty, and eventually, adulthood.

"I'm just like you, Sam," Castiel says dryly. "I'm growing, getting hairy, sweating, _aging_."

"But what if you aren't?" Sam questions with a surprisingly serious tone. "What if you just look young, but you're actually much older?"

Castiel's mouth opens to protest, but really, what can he say? There was nothing that could dismiss the possibility. There aren't exactly hundreds of teens walking around with wings just like Castiel that could disprove the theory. As far as they know, he's the only one on Earth. His head tips forward, his hands coming up to cover his face. This talk is doing nothing but making him feel worse.

Sam frowns, placing a hand on Castiel's back and rubbing in slow circles. He starts humming, some childish tune, and Castiel hasn't heard the song in so long, hasn't felt normal in longer even. Castiel drifts into the melody. His wings suddenly appear again, fluttering and getting in the way of Sam's hand on Castiel's back. Sam, usually most in tuned to Castiel, starts to pet them instead.

Castiel moans, desperate and vulnerable, unable to keep the sound from escaping despite feeling it on the tip of his tongue. Castiel looks over at Sam, his eyes wide, and Sam's eyes are just as wide, his hand very still. Castiel can feel Sam's pulse racing through his palm and against his tingling feathers. He turns to apologize, but Sam reaches out and ruffles more of the feathers closest to Castiel's back. A deep moan breaks through Castiel this time, his voice all over the place because of puberty, and Sam's eyes aren't wide anymore but fascinated and dark.

Castiel knows he should be concerned by that look but Sam is already sliding his fingers through the shining feathers again, making Castiel's head tip forward with the strain to keep upright on his bed. Sam's fingers follow along the edge of the golden tips, every touch like a jolt of pleasure redirecting Castiel's blood flow solely to his groin. He moans again and again, his shirt ripping open as his wings expand fully, covering both of them, floating above of their own volition. Sam sighs, taking in the beauty of them, bringing them up to his lips carefully, and rubbing his lips against the soft plumage.

Castiel is shaking, and Sam is suddenly aware of how affected his little brother is by the smallest touches. Sam keeps one hand along the feathers, running his fingers through them like he would drops in a pond, his other hand pressing gingerly to Castiel's bare chest. Castiel yelps when Sam's hand squeezes a feather between two fingers, his other hand dipping into Castiel's waistband.

"Stop, Sam," Castiel pants, "I'm already too close. We shouldn't be doing this."

Sam drags a small part of Castiel's wings down to his mouth, taking in the scent of innocence and purity, the scent he's tainting but can't deny, his lips pressing firmly against the blinding white wing. Castiel exclaims some type of protest—_no_ or _yes_ or _don't stop_ or _keep going_, or maybe a combination—and his wings start pulsating, a thrumming that fills him with emotions he can't comprehend. Sam lets go of Castiel's wing, focusing his attention instead on the erection peeking out of Castiel's boxers. Sam's fingers brush against the tip and Castiel is crying out, or roaring perhaps, as his length jerks and sputters all over Sam's hand and Castiel's chest.

Dean throws the door open, brow knitted together and fingers clenched into fists.

"How could you do this to him, Sam?" Dean berates, his gaze fierce and authoritarian. Castiel had almost forgotten who the man of the house was. "He's our baby brother. We're supposed to be protecting him, Sammy."

"Yeah, like you're one to talk, Dean," Sam spits just as defiant as he is with their father. It makes Castiel fold in on himself, his wings blinking in and out of view. "You're the one who gets hard every time you try to find his wings, and then spend an hour jerking off." Sam stands from the bed, taking his shirt off and throwing it at Castiel to wear. "He may not see it, but I know that you would have done much worse than what I just did to him."

Dean doesn't deny it, and Castiel's main protector slowly loses worth before his eyes.

Castiel doesn't know what he wants anymore. What's right is not what his heart considers right. He should want to go back to the brothers they were before his wings became a daily trauma, but he can't get rid of his wings. They're very much a part of him, a _definite_ permanent fixture. And his wings are what are making lines be crossed, relationships tarnish, and creating a rift in the Winchester household.

Castiel really loves his brothers, as brothers. But recently, they've opened his eyes to the other possibilities—the kind that brothers don't explore. Not that they were really related by blood. And it's not like John, their forever missing father, is around to keep them in line and make sure everything is not incestuous and perverse. Mary is probably looking down from Heaven with tears in her eyes. That hurts Castiel the most.

Castiel's not a Winchester; he doesn't want to pretend he belongs anymore. It's cripplingly obvious that he doesn't.

XXX

Of _course_, the day Castiel chooses to run away from home it has to rain.

Castiel is sitting on a park bench, miles away from the safety of the Winchester name and home, surprised by how far his heavy, unwilling body carried him in the storm. There's no way he's letting his wings out, even if he feels like he can now, because he doesn't want to be struck by the lightning bolts zipping through the sky. He's not crying, but he wishes his body would let him. He's so drained, so unhappy with this decision that even his tears can't fall anymore. His heart has shattered into enough pieces that there would be no point trying to fit them back together; they'd just crumble and slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

"Cas!"

Castiel recognizes Dean's voice by the tone. It's still firm and strong, still demonstrates that he's the head of their trio and it's his responsibility to bring Castiel back.

"Cas!"

Sam's tone is emotional, just like John's was when Mary didn't come back to them on a seemingly normal day in their life. Nothing had ever been normal since that day.

They run up to Castiel perched on the bench. Their brother is hunched over, his layers soaked through and through, the cotton sticking to Castiel's lithe body. Dean grabs Castiel's face, checking to see if he's still conscious. Dean nods at Sam when he's satisfied with the examination and Sam lifts Castiel over his shoulder as they rush to the Impala Dean has always hogged.

Castiel is shivering in the back seat when Sam slides him in, and Dean tells Sam to drive in his place. That is a testament to how worried he is, truly, and if Castiel could find the words in his frozen vocal chords, he would be using them. Dean slips in beside Castiel, pulling his shirt off and using it to rub down his younger brother, keeping the cold, wet droplets from making him sick.

Sam wonders if his theory could be false, that Castiel is indeed mortal like them, in which case they should be driving beyond the speed limit to get him back home. Dean blows warm air on Castiel's hands, rubbing them between his own methodically. There's nothing sensual about his ministrations; he wants to treat Castiel, to keep him alive, to bring him back from the despair he'd fallen in.

"Hang in there, Cas," Dean mutters, one hand on Castiel's, the other ruffling Castiel's hair with his dry shirt, trying to get the drops of rain away.

XXX

Castiel is dry, changed and tucked into his bed. He sleeps, unmoving and peaceful. Sam and Dean worry they should have brought him to the hospital instead, staring at each other as they lean in his doorway. But if his wings decided to act up, he'd be taken away and there'd be no way to get him back.

After two days, Sam tells Dean he thinks Castiel is in a coma. It's really not easy for Dean to admit, but he thinks it's possible, too. Castiel is still peacefully resting, but hardly breathing, and not waking up for food or even to use the bathroom.

Where is their father? Where is John when they need him?

Dean punches his bedroom door, watching the shape of his fist indented in the wood. John is too busy on his 'trips' to be around. Dean wishes he'd have told Castiel before this whole mess, but he had promised their father he wouldn't say. Sam knew, though. Sam had caught John sneaking out of the house with a duffel bag filled with bottles. John's trips consisted of him drinking until even the faintest memory of Mary couldn't be brought to the forefront of his mind.

So much for the Winchesters being a wolf pack with a reliable leader and loyal followers. The followers bit still rings true.

Castiel wakes up with Sam and Dean sleeping on the floor next to his bed. There are empty plates with remnants of last night's meal, and an extra plate set there for Castiel, just in case he'd woken.

The meaning of it all strips Castiel of his previous anguish, his sorrow, and fills him with gratitude. The room is suddenly flooded with light and—if their eyes were open—Castiel would be worried it would blind them for good. The light morphs, intensifying for a moment then softening, and settles into a tolerable, gentle haze. A dim glow that makes him feel warm and strong and safe. Castiel doesn't understand it, but he knows something has ended. A transformation has come to a close, and he's like a butterfly stepping out of its cocoon, basking in the feel of the world, reborn.

It took a year but, at two days from his sixteenth birthday, Castiel realizes he's fully grown.

"Dean, Sam," Castiel utters, his voice resounding and low. It competes even with Dean's deep growl.

Either brother is awake then, rubbing sleep from their eyes, and still rubbing when the glow proves too much for them in the morning.

"Are you all right?" Sam asks, sitting up.

"I'm fine. I feel better." Castiel smiles at them. "Thank you for looking for me."

Castiel had almost gone through with the worst decision of his life; leaving his reasons for being alive. They are what made him what he is today. They are and always will be his one and only family—blood did not make a difference.

Dean clears his throat. "Your voice is different."

"I think I'm done with puberty." Castiel grins. "Maybe I can be the head of the house now?"

"Keep dreaming," Dean says, playful. "I'm glad you're okay, Cas."

"So am I." Castiel smiles.

XXX

Strange new things happen—not as traumatic as growing wings, but close.

Castiel is at the dinner table with Sam and Dean—Sam having made supper to celebrate Castiel's recovery—and when Castiel accidentally spills some water on his shirt, the fabric turning transparent, he can feel and _hear_ the common hiss between his older brothers. They're both picturing how horrible and lost Castiel looked when they found him in the park. They remember how worried they were, how worried they still are that he might run away again.

Castiel can hear all this. He can hear what they're thinking down to the minute flickers when they shift thoughts. He can _read_ their minds. They can't keep him out of the loop anymore, and Castiel feels like it's a glorious day.

Castiel licks his index finger when he dips it into his mashed potatoes by accident, and he can hear Dean—in his mind, in the deepest parts of his head—wishing he could do that to Castiel.

This new gift has its ups and downs, just like his wings did. He doesn't tell them about it though because it would only make them drift apart again.

But at night Castiel finds himself wandering into Dean's room, hopeful that his power wasn't leading him on because he feels the need to touch Dean and Sam just as strongly as they feel it for him. He's next to Dean's bed, standing, and his wings drag Dean out of bed slowly.

Dean turns over, but notices the change in texture—much less bumpy and more organic—of where he was just lying. Castiel is amazed himself at how much control he's developed over his gifts, and they float just above Dean's bed. It's only a few feet but Dean gasps when he realizes who the cause is.

"Dean," Castiel murmurs, "do you still want me like this?"

Dean's gaze traces the outlines of Castiel, dragging a hand down one of the pillow-soft wings, and Castiel hums deep in his throat.

"Yeah," Dean says, wetting his lips. "I really do."

Castiel splays his hand flat across Dean's stomach, breathing hard when he feels the muscles jump under his touch. Dean keeps his eyes on Castiel, but runs his fingers through the feathers, twirling them back and forth in his grasp. They're more like layers of skin than the type of feathers you'd find on a bird. Castiel can barely keep his eyes open, and Dean leans closer, taking his brother's lips between his own. The thought of stealing your underage brother's first kiss really shouldn't be such a turn on, but Dean is a small-brained, possessive caveman when it comes to Castiel.

Castiel's legs wrap around Dean, his erection sliding up and down Dean's thigh. And all Dean can think is _oh, he's not wearing underwear_. Castiel chuckles when he hears it, rolling his tongue against Dean's, sluicing his wings through the air until they land delicately on Dean's bed. Dean pins Castiel down, careful not to fold his wings, but they stretch and flex through the air, leaning against either wall on their own. Dean mouths at the edge of Castiel's right wing with his hand stroking through the left one, and Castiel's hips jerk, bumping into Dean's _overly clothed_ erection.

"Dean," Castiel pants, his eyes screwing shut. "You're torturing me."

"That bad, huh?" Dean smirks, lifting his hips to slide out of his boxers. He settles between Castiel's spread legs and rolls, purposely bumping the head of their cocks against each other.

Castiel yelps, fisting in Dean's hair to seal his mouth on a spot under Dean's ear. He knows how sensitive Dean's neck is, even if he thinks it makes him seem girly. His moan is gritty, raw, and it makes Castiel's heart stutter instead of beat.

Sam can hear everything through the paper-thin walls. He's upset, disheartened by what's happening. He thought they were going to try and behave, be real brothers to Castiel. But there's Dean, being a hypocrite, and letting Castiel ride him or whatever is going on. The obscene sounds amplify, and Sam is about ready to storm over there and give Dean a piece of his mind, when he feels something caressing his cheek.

It's barely there at first, but every time Castiel moan's the touch becomes stronger. Sam's not sure if it's underneath or outside of his skin; it feels like his body is on fire with each stroke. The closer Castiel gets, the more Dean pets his feathers and grinds his hips against Castiel, the more palpable it becomes for Sam. It's as though Sam is right there, in the room filling with moans and mewls, experiencing exactly what Castiel's climb towards climax is like.

Sam lies flat on his bed, his hands twisting in the comforter as Dean either palms or strokes Castiel's erection, and Sam can practically _see_ the hand on his own cock, jerking the flesh that's already too sensitive. Castiel whimpers, and Sam knows that sound; Castiel's close. Dean sucks a circle of blood to the surface of Castiel's skin, then dips down and takes the head of Castiel's erection into his mouth, caressing Castiel's wing gingerly. Castiel screams, and Sam's whole body trembles with it, reaching through the air to try and feel whatever Dean is. And it's there, invisible but present, floating above him. Sam touches the delicate feathers he can sense but not see. Castiel screams once more, lost in the combination of his brothers touches, shooting down Dean's throat, his whole body throbbing. Sam comes without being touched or even touching himself, his climax pummeling through him in waves.

Castiel certainly has better control over his gifts now.

Sam is breathing in Castiel's post-orgasm scent when Castiel begins moaning again. Dean is still hard, still desperate for more of his brother, and Castiel is spent but not unwilling. Castiel hums when Dean's cock throbs as soon as Castiel's fingers are wrapped around it. He's going to pull his big brother apart just as he did to him. Sam is squeezing his eyes shut, trying to sever the bond, afraid of what tagging along for a second time will do to his body. Castiel smirks, purposely stretching his wings further, letting them stroke up and down Sam's chest, feeling the cause and effect of his action.

Dean sucks in air when Castiel's grip tightens, spreading pre-come from tip to base, staring into Dean's eyes to feel the connection more pants, arching his back, leaning his head against Castiel's, and Castiel strokes faster, harder, leaning up to breathe the same air as Dean, to secure the bond. His wings flicker in and out of sight when Dean is close, and Castiel presses against the tip of Dean's cock with his thumb, forcing his orgasm out.

Sam is buzzing with arousal, and when Dean cries out, so does Sam, Castiel having jolted the connection back to Sam.

Dean stares down at Castiel, lips red and swollen, and Castiel likes the sight of Dean when he's not in charge, likes him defeated and weak like this. He grins and Dean rolls his eyes; he has a feeling he knows what Castiel is thinking.

Sam is asleep before he can break down Dean's bedroom door and tell Castiel how much of a rotten kid he is for making him come twice.

Castiel reels his wings back toward him, wrapping them around Dean and himself. Dean pets Castiel's hair until he falls asleep, their fingers intertwined, their bodies warm from the self-made cocoon and from the love between them. If Castiel's wings stray while he's asleep and flutter over Sam once every now and then, no one seems to mind.

XXX

In the morning, Sam thinks they should discuss what happened during the night. Castiel looks anywhere but at Sam, and Dean chews on a piece of toast like he doesn't know what Sam's talking about.

"What happened?" Dean says, not batting an eye even while they all know he's lying.

"You had sex with Cas," Sam says flatly. Castiel spits out some milk, and Sam hands him a napkin. He continues, "And I could feel it like I was there. Castiel made sure of that."

Castiel looks away when Dean narrows his eyes at him. "Well, what do you want me to say?" Dean continues chewing without shame. "I'm not gonna stop, Sammy."

Castiel face-palms and wishes he could disappear in the chocolate milk from his cereal.

Sam frowns, but nods. "I don't want to stop either."

They both look at Castiel, and Castiel brings his bowl up to his mouth to slurp the milk loudly, obnoxiously, distractingly.

"I guess he doesn't want to choose," Sam says, looking at Dean. "What should we do?"

"Why's this an issue, Sammy?" Dean crosses his arms. "Didn't mom ever teach you about sharing?"

"Sharing? You don't mind-" Sam's gaze darts over to Castiel. "-that we both, like, you know?"

"Fuck him? No, I don't," Dean answers quickly. "He's our brother first and foremost. We both love him equally."

Sam tilts his head, contemplating what Dean said. "How 'bout taking turns?"

"You mean like a schedule?" Dean scoffs. "That's boring, Sammy."

Castiel grumbles, bothered by how smoothly their conversation _about him_ is going _without him_ needing to be involved.

"We'll let Cas choose," Sam offers, glancing over at a pouting Castiel. "Whenever you want to be with me or Dean, you just come into our room."

"Sounds good to me," Dean declares. "How 'bout it, Cas?"

"Okay, I guess," Castiel answers.

XXX

Surprisingly, they don't do as much obscene things with Castiel as he expects them to. They really do wait for Castiel to initiate. And if he doesn't, they don't search him out or try to seduce him, they just lovingly cuddle with him on the couch or offer him snacks and beer. (Who cares about being a few years below the drinking age when you're at home?)

Well, there is that whole week where Dean insists on sleeping in the nude with his door open, trying to tempt Castiel enough to come in. When Sam unknowingly walks into that trap, Castiel expects to hear high pitched squeals and furniture falling over, what he doesn't hear is Sam stepping back out. That could save him some trouble.

XXX

A few years later, when Castiel is finally old enough to drink, drive, smoke, and do anything else that an adult can, they receive a letter from their father. John writes how sorry he is for being gone for so long, and how he misses them greatly, but that he has some news. Dean is the first to vocalize his annoyance, Sam is frowning soon after, and Castiel is just staring blankly.

John has another son, their half-brother, and his name is Adam Milligan. He's been away trying to help Adam's mother to raise the boy, since he isn't as lucky to have someone like Dean around. Sam snorts; if their father only knew what Dean did to Castiel once the sun went down.(Or what he started doing to Sam when Castiel wasn't in the mood.)

The end of the letter is kind of sweet; John telling them how much he loves them, and that he'll be bringing Adam to meet his amazing, grown-up boys soon. Dean crumples up the letter and throws it at Sam who crumples it more and drops it on the floor. Castiel's eyes dart from either of their faces, trying to figure out what just happened in their minds.

"What kind of name is _Adam_? I wonder if he found his Eve yet," Dean says, irritated. "And who says we wanna meet him?"

"We won't really have a choice once he gets here, Dean," Sam says, just as irritated. "Maybe we should hide Castiel when he comes."

"What?" Castiel's brow furrows. "Why would you hide me?"

Sam nods for Dean to say it, and Dean points to himself, shaking his head. Dean puts out a fist, and so does Sam. Rock-paper-scissors. Dean wins. Sam rolls his eyes when Dean smirks.

"We don't want to have to share you with him," Sam blurts out, crossing his arms.

"It's bad enough I have to share you with _Gigantor_ over here," Dean adds, with a bit too much conviction in his tone.

Castiel giggles at that, and Sam scowls at him. Dean laughs, ruffling Castiel's hair. Castiel smiles at them, his hair going in ten different directions, and really, he doesn't need anyone else. These two Winchesters are and have always been his only family. Even when Mary and John came and went, they've stuck by him, so he's going to stick by them as well.

"Maybe I could stay at a friend's place when Adam and Dad come over," Castiel says innocently, dipping his spoon in his milk. But he can see Sam and Dean both gaping. It's fun to have so much effect on them.

Castiel wonders what else he could get out of them in the future. Or, you know, _tonight_, since it's his twenty-first birthday.

-End


End file.
